A New Game
by Vegorott
Summary: A single month has passed since Moriarty's announcement of 'Did you miss me' And everything has been quiet, too quiet, which is driving Sherlock insane. All he has is boredom until he gets a call, a call that changes everything.


Hello FanFiction's Sherlock fandom! I, like most of you here, am obsessed with BBC's Sherlock with Benedict Cumerbatch and Martin Freeman. I have discovered its tumblr and stumbled onto its fanfiction and I have now decided to try my hand at writing Sherlock FanFiction.

Now, about the actual story: A months has passed since Moriarty's 'Did you miss me?' and everything has been quiet...too quiet. Sherlock can feel himself going insane and John's too busy with Mary to notice. Then one day, a single phone calls changes everything.

* * *

Sherlock sat in silence, nothing but his own body made noise in his flat. The clocks had been turned off by the man removing their ticking insides, their annoying ticking insides. He could hear cars passing by the building and lighting up the dark room for a brief second with their headlights and the lights annoyed him too, but he did not feel like geting off the couch to close the curtains himself or call for Mrs. Hudson to do it, the poor woman had sprained her ankle and had a hard time climbing the steps on her own, Sherlock could be heartless, but he wasn't cruel to his landlady, plus the woman was at the hospital getting it checked. Sherlock held his phone in his hand, waiting for it to vibrate and distract him from his intense boredom, but nothing came.

Where was Moriarty? It had been a month since the mad-man had somewhat announced his return.

_Did you miss me?_

Sherlock hated to admit it, but he kind of did. Moriarty gave him something to do with his life and now the man was silent. Why would he take over all of the televisions of England and not do anything? Is he waiting for a proper time? Sherlock was waiting himself for a call or text or something from Moriarty and nothing, nothing! Not even a single hint as to what the psychopath was planning and it annoyed Sherlock more than the clock's ticking had ten minutes ago.

"Damn you Moriarty." Sherlock said under his breath, speaking for the first time in hours. He raised an eyebrow when he heard his door being knocked on. "Is that you Mrs. Hudson?"

"Do I sound like an old woman to you Sherlock?" John's voice asked from behind the locked door downstairs.

"You can nag like one." Sherlock muttered and waited a moment before sighing and sitting up.

"Are you going to let me in or not? It's bloody freezing out here!" Sherlock rolled himself off of the couch and took his time getting down the stairs before opening the door to a cold John.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, turning away from the man and going right back up the stairs without waiting for a response.

"Mary kicked me out of the house she's...well..." John's sentence trailed as he climbed up the stairs after the taller man.

"Having hormonal rages?" Sherlock offered as an ending to John's sentence.

"I guess you could call it that. She said my cologne gave her a headache and made me leave till the scent wore off."

"It is a strong smell." Sherlock commented.

"Bloody hell, what happened to your clock!?" John exclaimed after stepping on a gear.

"It was a nuisance."

"I got you that clock Sherlock."

"It was a nuisance." Sherlock repeated and sat himself down again.

"So any word from...you know..."

"No Moriarty is still staying silent and it annoys me." Sherlock leaned back in his chair and let out a harsh huff.

"At least he's not killing anyone."

"Yet." Sherlock added. "And I'm bored. I'm not even in the mood for my violin."

"There was a break-in at someone's house near where I live, the police were still there when I drove past it."

"A simple break-in? I could solve that in ten seconds." John rolled his eyes at the detective's comment and walked over to behind the chair Sherlock was sitting in.

"Then why don't you? Just get off your lazy arse and go do something!" John had grabbed the back of the chair and tipped it forward, making Sherlock fall out and on to his knees.

"Fine, fine. There's no need to get nasty." Sherlock patted his chest, nothing coming off of it, but only doing it for show.

"I'll be downstairs waiting." John said and gestured towards Sherlock's attire of baggy pants, a gray shirt and robe.

Faster than John had expected Sherlock was dressed and wearing his cloak, the collar up in his attempt to look 'cooler'. Sherlock raised his hand to hail for a cab but John pulled his hand down and pointed at his car. Sherlock didn't say anything and walked off, an annoyed John behind him.

"I dislike your car." Sherlock stated as he sat down in the front, a strange feeling since he was used to sitting in the back of cabs.

"Why?" John asked and regretted his answer.

"It's small, reeks of your cologne and Mary's perfume, there are stains of coffee on the seats and it feels crooked, I think you need to get one of your tires refilled." John let out a sigh and started the car.

"It's not small, it's the same size of the cabs you ride in, my cologne and Mary's perfume smells just fine together, the seats are black so how could you possibly know that there is a stain on them and my tires are nice and full." John placed his foot on the accelerator and the car lurched forward.

"And the cabbie knows how to drive."

"At least I can legally get behind the wheel of a car." John stated as he turned around a corner.

"It wasn't my fault." Sherlock muttered.

"You almost ran a child over after going through a red light."

"He should have looked both ways before crossing the street."

"He shouldn't have to worry about a psychopath-"

"Sociopath."

"-trying to kill him with a car."

"I wasn't trying to kill him." Sherlock protested.

"That's not what the child said while he was crying for his mother."

"He should have looked."

"Why am I friends with you?" John asked as he pulled his car up in front of the house that had several other police cars around it.

"Because I'm your best man." Sherlock stated and got out of the car."

"You are making me regret that decision." John closed his door harder than necessary and went after his 'friend'.

"Look at who finally decided to leave his house." Sally Donovan commented as she watched Sherlock walk up to the house.

"Evening Ms. Donovan." John greeted the woman.

"How are you and Anderson?" Sherlock asked.

"When are you going to stop bringing that up?"

"The day you stop using his deodorant." The three walked into the open door of the house.

"What do we have here?" Sherlock went up to a counter that had destroyed picture frames covering it.

"How are you doing today Lestrade? I'm doing quite well Sherlock thank you for asking." Lestrade said sarcastically and when he didn't get a response he sighed. "Simple break in and robbery, no deaths or injury."

"Interesting." Sherlock said to himself when he noticed that pictures with only children in them were perfectly fine. "What was stolen?" He asked, pulling out his magnify glass and getting a closer look at the shattered frames.

"An expensive, small statue the family had been given from a close friend of the wife and at the moment all of the clues are pointing to the husband doing it." Sherlock quickly glimpsed over at the man being put under custody.

_(Younger than the wife, not the father of the two children, lipstick on collar.)_

Sherlock hummed before continuing his search. He stopped at a shard of glass that had a small amount of blood on it. Sherlock turned around and looked at the wife who was talking to an officer, crying harder than needed.

_(Over dramatic tears, bandage covering side of palm, blood on edge of blouse.)_

Without a word, Sherlock walked up to the woman and reached his hand into her purse.

"Sherlock you can't just-" John stopped his sentence when Sherlock pulled a small statue out of the purse.

"You kept it in your purse? Assuming no one would go through the belongings of a weeping woman. Smart, but stupid at the same time." The woman glared at Sherlock. "You discovered that your husband was cheating on you and you went on a rampage, destroying the house. You decided to 'steal' this little thing so you could blame your husband, have him take the blame and get him out of your life, since you were so upset about him cheating. Even though the children aren't his anyway."

"What?" The man asked.

"There, case solved, I'm going home." Sherlock handed the nameless officer the stature and walked out of the house. "Five minutes John, I'm so exhausted from all of this work." Sherlock mocked as he heard the shorter man follow him.

"At least you did something besides mope all day." John snapped.

"I don't mope, I sulk, there is a difference." Sherlock stated.

"The same difference as a psychopath and a sociopath?"

"Exactly."

"Sometimes Sherlock I wonder why I even bother with you, you are nothing more than a child."

"A very intelligent child."

"You're an immature five-year old!"

"Mycroft said that same thing thirty years ago." John opened his mouth to respond but both men froze at the sound of a song being played. A very familiar song. Stayin' Alive. Sherlock reached into his pocket and discovered that his phone was making the noise.

"When did you change your ringtone?" John asked.

"I didn't." Sherlock growled anda answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Fifty-five, seventeen, eight." A young woman said over the phone, sounding as if she was having a hard time keeping herself together.

"Who is this!?" Sherlock demanded.

"Fifty-five, seventeen eight." The woman repeated over the phone and hung up.

"What was that?"

"Numbers...numbers..." Sherlock closed his phone and rushed right back into the house.

"What do you want? The case is already solved Sherlock." Sally stated as the tall man passed her.

"Numbers, numbers, numbers." Sherlock muttered under his breath as he looked around.

"What about numbers?" Lestrade tried to understand what the other man was doing.

"Fifty-five, seventeen, eight. It's a combination of some sort." Sherlock ran up to a painting hanging on the wall and tore it down.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade took back his shout when he saw a small safe was hiding behind the painting.

"What a cliché." Sherlock stated and pressed the code in, the door clicking and opening slighty. The detective grabbed the small door and opened the safe the rest of the way, seeing that it was empty except for a single piece of paper. Sherlock slowly reached out for the paper and unfolded it, reading a message that he had been waiting for.

_Ready for a new game?_


End file.
